The Democratization of Fear
I - Crimes Against the Advent It was the belief of many critics at the time that, in the decades following the devastating Blue War, there was a distinct lack of skepticism. No matter where one went in the world, whether they visited a prosperous nation within the GFW Union or a war-torn territory in the remote borderlands of Greater Maddox, it seemed hardly anyone was asking questions anymore. It was as if the conflict and the atrocities that followed thereafter had convinced the world that some things were better left unanswered; why, for example, had the Granchian race all but disappeared following the War? Why was the vast expanse of their homeland rendered off limits by the government of Vicadal, who had seemingly annexed the lot of it? It was these questions that most assumed simply no one had the answer to, or those who had the answers could be entrusted to keep them, perhaps to their graves. People only began to ask questions again once it became apparent that the governments of the world could not be trusted to keep secrets any longer. Namely, when the wrathful military faction, the so-called "Second Advent," came out of hiding and conquered the Granchian country, driving the Vicadian occupiers out in a matter of days and declaring themselves the true successors to the Granchian throne, people began to wonder if their noble leaders had known of their existence all this time and chose not to spill the beans about them, so to say. Vicadal, of course, denied knowing of their existence prior to their attack on Valencia. Vicadal also happened to deny that the Second Advent was any real threat, claiming that they were merely a group of loosely affiliated Granchian loyalists who were disgruntled after losing the War and being forced into hiding. And the people believed them, for a time - that was, until the Advent began to demonstrate the full extent of their military might by invading several small countries bordering Granchia, forcing their reluctant inhabitants to either assimilate or be tried for sedition. Vicadal and the Union quietly ignored the ever-growing Granchian nuisance until their minor annoyance evolved into a genuine threat to western civilization as they knew it. Right under their noses, Granchian manufacturers seized a tight grip on the world economy, dominating virtually every industry in a matter of years. It seemed the ever-growing Granchian sphere of influence - the Polarian Empire as it was called - had been severely underestimated by the international stage. Especially feared was the apparent commander in chief of the Advent and newly appointed emperor of Polaris, Supreme Leader Benthamic, who was credited with building the Advent from the ground up after the remnants of Granchia were driven into exile. Without his guidance, historians agree, Granchia would likely never resurface after its devastating defeat at the climax of the Blue War. However, without his tyranny, historians also agree, many millions, perhaps billions, of lives would likely never have been taken so abruptly and without warning. Benthamic's policies have been described as the pinnacle of carefully planned fascism. The disgraced Granchian people had nowhere else to turn to, with virtually all major nations of the world refusing to give them shelter or safe haven in times of need. The Supreme Leader and his Advent offered them something they had not tasted in years: security. And when the people received their security, graciously bestowed upon them by Benthamic's regime, they began to worship him not only as their savior, but as the perfect being - a god, for all intents and purposes. For even the lowest denomination of citizens within the Empire, who lived no greater or more fruitful lives than prior to their supposed salvation at the hands of the Advent, a glimmer of hope remained deep inside them that if they dedicated their very lives to Benthamic's teachings and obeyed his every command, eventually, their ascendance would be completed. Of course, as many predicted, Benthamic declared any person not loyal to the Empire as enemies to the Granchian way of life. His arrogance and rancor towards the outside world would quickly influence a generation of fanatically loyal Granchians, whose every waking moment was either dedicated to loving Benthamic or hating anyone who dared oppose him. This was called the democratization of fear, and it dominated every facet of Granchian life, from the upper echelons of its obscenely large military to the endless clout exhibited by the formidable mega-corporations that called Granchia their home. Tegelen, August 2016 GWY. The thick canopy of the Scantrian jungle covered the soil in a sort of perpetual darkness. Out among the endless wilderness, the only settlement for hundreds of miles sat in the center of a small natural clearing. Illuminated by a sizeable bonfire in the encampment's center, the cold and tired inhabitants of the settlement huddled around the flames, still unconsciously keeping their voices down to stay hidden despite there being no apparent threat in sight. These refugees, in some cruel twist of ironic fate, had been evicted from their homes in Granchia and hunted down mercilessly by the sinister agents of the Advent who, by the Leader's decree, had begun a cruel campaign to ethnically purify the Empire by deporting or eliminating any outsiders who had immigrated to Advent controlled territories. The Teglenites were hit the hardest by the purge. Their home nation was notoriously impoverished and unable to feed its ever growing population, forcing many of its people - and many of its businesses, in turn - to flee for Granchia, which had recently cemented itself as the bustling industrial leader of the Union. How surprised they must have been to find that ruthless Granchian customs inspectors had not only been ordered to refuse them entry into the country, but also to arrest them and arrange for their escort to the nearest detention center. To assist any Granchian-Teglenite refugees, who were technically branded traitors to the Advent for avoiding punishment, the Teglenite government deployed small settlements across the untamed wilds of the nation. Seeking to bring their prisoners home, the Advent had been conducting secret raids across refugee camps for the past several months, and though many countries within the Union knew of their heinous acts, they largely turned the other cheek to avoid sparking a conflict with Granchia, despite the Tegelen government's desperate cries for help. Three Upsilon transport shuttles, invisible to the naked eye and undetectable to the human ear thanks to state of the art cloaking devices, touched down approximately a kilometer from the camp. Though not even the cloaking devices could mask their landings, the refugees dismissed the wake as a simple gust of wind. The flames swayed erratically, threatening to envelop the surrounding wilderness and crudely built wooden shacks constructed around the camp. The sizeable squad of Granchian troops quickly and efficiently filed out of their transport shuttles. Their ornately crafted pearly white armor glinted momentarily in the moonlight before dimming in color to adjust to their surroundings; it likely wouldn't matter if their prey saw them coming or not, but it was standard protocol to prepare for any eventuality, regardless of relative necessity. The soldiers marched hastily through the jungle, flanked by a small cadre of black and orange plated drones that scanned for lifeforms in the distance and reported to the Seneschal periodically. It was exceedingly rare that a Knight of the Second Advent be dispatched to lead standard troopers in a mission, especially one of such a high rank as Seneschal, but to ensure all fleeing Teglenites were captured and brought to justice within an impartial Imperial court, the Supreme Leader dispatched his personal warriors to oversee the reclamations. Without warning, the massive bonfire grew out of control, setting a shack and several nearby trees alight. Terrified refugees rushed to the shadows while equally timid Teglenite mercenaries desperately tried to quell the flames. In the midst of the confusion, Granchian soldiers leapt from the cover of darkness, descending upon the village with decisive brutality. Half the mercenaries were immediately shot down by the Granchian troopers with their brutal plasma guns, far more lethal than mere bullets; the survivors quickly aimed their rifles and attempted to return fire at the far more advanced troopers of the Advent, but their bullets simply bounced off their armor, the kinetic waves of their bullets harmlessly dispersed by several thin layers of ghostweave. The troopers shrugged off the gunfire of the mercenaries, dispatching the last of them in a moment's notice. The soldiers showed mercy to the fleeing refugees; imposing drones swarmed them one by one, using their apprehension devices to lock them in place with suspension fields until a trooper came to cuff them. The faceless Seneschal, adorned in regal battle armor far more advanced and distinctive than the plain adaptive camo worn by the Advent troops, emerged from the brush of the jungle and calmly observed the chaotic scene before him, plasma rifle in hand. The Seneschal stalked to the center of the village near the now mostly controlled bonfire, where the terrified refugees had all been tossed for inspection. Silently, the Knight retrieved a small holographic device from his utility belt that buzzed to life upon the click of a button. One by one, the Seneschal held the device up to each refugee; if their genetic makeup, as scanned by the device, matched that of a registered Teglenite escapee, a tiny green light would flash. The moment a refugee was identified, they were immediately knocked out cold by the butt of one of the soldiers' guns, which was the case for all of the detained apart from one. The Knight came upon the last cuffed individual: a strong, well-built man, tall for a Teglenite and with a defiant glint in his eye. The moment the imposing Senescal hovered over the man, he spat at his shiny metallic boots, prompting a healthy slap from the Knight. Just as he prepared to execute the man, however, the device in his hand began to beep wildly, emanating a bright yellow light as opposed to green. The Seneschal lowered his weapon and inspected the device, which prominently displayed a small holographic depiction of the man before him, labeled in Granchian language the words, "SCION." The Seneschal chuckled slowly, his large cybernetic helmet mechanizing and distorting his otherwise healthy voice. "This man is accused of crimes against the Advent of the greatest severity," the Seneschal declared, stowing the device. A trooper slowly raised his weapon, preparing to execute. The Knight waved his hand dismissively in the soldier's direction, silently commanding him to lower his rifle. "Caliteros Logios-Miles Zoomerion, it is time you faced justice before the Supreme Leader." II - Valencia The outside world was by all accounts a mystery to the Granchian people. For all the empire's ubiquitous libraries and places of scholarly study, details of nations in the outside world were sparse at best and nonexistent at worst. True, the same could be said for the rest of the world regarding the inner workings of Granchian culture; even after exhausting countless resources over the course of several decades, even the most capable foreign intelligence bureaus still knew next to nothing about who the Supreme Leader of the Second Advent was, or how it was even remotely possible for one man (or even a group of men) to stake their claim over the entire planet in such a short amount of time. Perhaps even more curious was the relative mystery surrounding the so-called sky city of Valencia, the gigantic and prosperous capital of the new empire. It was a given that just as with most other aspects of Granchian life, foreigners hardly even knew of its existence, but, strikingly, only a tiny minority of Granchians themselves had ever seen, much less visited the mythic mega-city. Such was the nature of Granchian society. Those who were privileged, either born such or granted the right to be counted among their elite ranks by way of personal achievement, climbed the social ladder with relative ease, all the while stepping on the toes of any in their way. The free market, a societal aspect that many felt was missing within the original empire of Granchia, was held sacrosanct by Benthamic's new regime, though whether it was so out of necessity or the Leader's personal hatred of socialist-based economies, it was difficult to say for certain. What was for certain, however, was that the most disadvantaged citizens were perfectly happy to be taken advantage of, so to say. It was the belief of most of them (though not all) that it was their duty to suffer, as their struggles were minor sacrifices to made for the good of the collective empire. Such is what led to the industrialization of Granchia, in which the line between the corporations and the government was constantly being blurred. The democratization of fear, evidently then, was not based merely around the principle of hating any who did not love the Supreme Leader; it was an unspoken ideology, akin to fascism, that encompassed a wide range of philosophies that drove Granchian society as a whole. A single black and orange striped personal fighter of the elite Carrion Spike model approached the underbelly of Valencia with great speed and elegance, zipping past the archaic urban hovercars most standard citizens were forced to rely on for transportation. From the view of the fighter's cockpit, Valencia was a truly godforsaken place; one could hardly see a few inches beyond their eyes thanks to a combination of thick industrial smog and torrential downpour, two features commonly attributed to the urban sprawls of Granchia. The fighter's solitary pilot passed safely though the invisible forcefield protecting the city from invaders, automatically cleared for entry thanks to his cybernetic implants. Implants were compulsory for all citizens of the new empire, not for the sake of prolonging life or granting unnatural levels of intelligence, but because life as the rest of the world knew it was simply not acceptable in the eyes of Benthamic. Among the many millions of imperial citizens, not a single organic heart was beating; they were mechanized, the lot of them - their mortality taken from them at the moment of their birth, never to be given back. They were convinced, however, that it was a noble sacrifice to be made in the name of the Supreme Leader, for he had dictated it so; the democratization of fear in practice. Every few moments, a deafening pulse emanated from the heart of the city, the work of perhaps the greatest and most terrible technological marvel of the Granchain Engineering Corps dubbed the pulse disruptor. At least one disruptor existed in each major Granchian city, and though they had not been used combatively thus far, the thought of scores of their finest soldiers all dying at once in one terrifying display of pure radiological warfare mortified foreign governments. Not a single living thing existed in Valencia, above or below for that matter. The Carrion Spike soared briskly through the perpetual black storm clouds, speeding past any air taxis in its path. It adhered to the strictly defined skyroad just barely, eventually diverging from the most taken path to fly in the direction of the massive floating fortress on the northernmost edges of the city, which was quite literally swarming with scout drones and floating patrol skiffs armed to the bone with plasma guns and combat-ready soldiers. For the most part, the city was covered in a blanket of ceaseless darkness. The clouds, which were a strange industrial green color as a result of the smelting of Vree iron, choked the sky and whatever dwelled above, forcing the people below to resort to unnatural light sources and the constant crackle of volatile lightning to see. The fighter finally approached at the fortress, its pilot sorely aware that at least a dozen turrets were trained directly at him. He slowed his advance, traveling into base's exposed opening that led directly to its core. Massive stasis beams built into the fortress' steel walls locked the fighter into place, allowing an inspector to attend to it. From behind a small glass window carved into the side of the fortress, a soldier could be seen operating the controls of the skylift. The soldier wore standard white armor, typical of Granchian troops, but sporting a large orange armband, signifying their position as an agent of the Granchian Trade Union. Megacorporations (or groups of megacorporations) such as the GTU were widely acknowledged as having nearly as much influence over the people's safety as the government itself, at least within urban environments such as Valencia where commerce was the focus, not necessarily the elimination of high value enemies of the Advent. Corporate aligned soldiers were accordingly less skilled and more sloppy than their public counterparts, though they were just as, if not more trigger happy than state troopers. Accordingly, they often feuded with other corporate soldiers and even some standard agents of the Advent, though the public endorsement of this infighting by the corporations was essentially a death sentence, as the Supreme Leader was not one to sit idly by as his reputation as a cold hard military dictator was smeared by some sleazy corporate entity, free market be damned. The GTU soldier carefully examined the fighter, scanning it for discrepancies. Only the most elite were allowed access into the upper districts of Valencia, prompting the trooper to momentarily consider evaporating the fighter before noting its model of Carrion Spike. Spikes were only awarded to the most prestigious military officials for outstanding achievements in battle, connoting that the pilot inside probably knew the Leader personally. Catching himself before making a grave mistake, the GTU soldier cleared the fighter for entry; immediately, the stasis beams were released and the fighter was blasted upwards with alarming speed. Darkness, for a moment - then brilliant light. The upper levels of Valencia, a stark contrast to the poverty-ridden streets below, sat high above the clouds. The city was mostly comprised of mega skyscrapers that were abandoned on the lower levels and sprawling with activity in the upper levels, where the joyous upper class basked in the joys of 24-hour retail and other luxury services, all operated by simple machine men owned and operated by the same corporations that exerted their tyrannical dominance over the impoverished below. Upper Valencia appeared to exist on another world entirely. Above the clouds, the people experienced no harsh weather, and their implants granted them freedom from the all-pervasive joint oppression of lungs and oxygen. The clouds, instead of a murky green as below, almost seemed to shine a hauntingly beautiful emerald green, as if the buildings had been constructed over a vast green sea. Despite their beauty, the clouds were still a formidable safety hazard that served as a sort of natural defense for the upper levels, vaporizing any uncleared craft entering from anywhere other than the sky fortress below, which shielded both small and large vehicles using a sophisticated magnetic lock. The Carrion Spike returned to normal speed and caught a skyroad, the vehicles here traveling at a too slow and leisurely pace for the pilot's taste. The small fighter adjusted course and made for the center of Valencia, the Spear of Janus - a massive tower that stretched miles into the sky, piercing far beyond the emerald green clouds and into the planet's orbit. The entire empire had been built around this single structure where the Supreme Leader resided, not just Valencia. Its imposing architecture was more than breathtaking to first time viewers, but among the elite who had seen its brilliance for than a few times in the past, it was simply another tower. The fighter flew upwards for several minutes before finally landing on a discrete landing pad about three quarters of the way up the Spear, its landing cleared by the same virtue as the GTU soldier below, though with slightly more scrutiny. The Spike touched down on the pad and its pilot hopped out, his face concealed by a large hood. Two regal guards, not mere soldiers but prestigious Knights of the Second Advent, filed out onto the landing pad from inside, brandishing charged electrospears that emanated low, vaguely threatening hums of concentrated plasma. "You violate the dwelling of the Supreme Leader," one of the guardians admonished, aiming the spear directly at the man's heart, perhaps ready to throw it with deadly precision. "Identify yourself or perish." The man, expressionless, threw back his hood to reveal light brown hair, green eyes, and light olive skin, common features among members of the Granchian race. The guards flinched and exchanged worried looks, instantly recognizing the man. "That's quite enough," another, more powerful voice said from inside. Another man, clad in a white military officer's uniform, stepped out onto the landing platform, prompting both guards to lower their weapons and silently stand at attention. "Supreme Leader!" the guards nervously shouted. The man was similar to the stranger in almost every way, though he emanated a more refined and professional demeanor and was slightly taller. The two guards disappeared back within the building, leaving the two alone on the landing pad. The stranger stepped forward after the two guards were out of earshot, staring silently at the man before bowing slightly and with some reluctance. "Father," the stranger acknowledged. "Cali, my son," the man nodded formally, inviting the stranger inside. "Come. We have much to discuss." Benthamic and Cali walked up the winding stairs of the Spear, ascending to the top of the building slowly. Soon, the two arrived in the office of the Supreme Leader, decorated to the square inch with banners, military prizes, and paintings of his likeness, some of them beside his wife and child, but most solely of him. The computer console, built into the wall and featuring countless oddly shaped buttons and pads, was still humming with life, likely left on while its owner rushed to meet his guest. "I trust you are making progress with the Acathian computations," Cali inquired, though it was spoken as if it was a simple statement of the obvious. "We have made great strides in the past few weeks," Benthamic nodded, gesturing to a strange circular holographic symbol that was being projected from the computer console. The hologram disappeared and the open file closed as if on cue. "But there are more pressing matters at hand, as you know." Cali hung his head in thought for a moment, not searching for the most suitable answer, but for the correct one. "It was my understanding all of the clones had been brought into custody or eliminated. And yet here I am, still disgraced by my own people and yours as well." Cali spoke the truth. Many months ago, after Cali received his father's blessing to found his own empire to border his father's, he was approached by the Leader with a curious proposition: an ambitious plan to create an army of subservient super soldiers, shaped in Cali's image to wreak havoc on any who opposed the joint empire. But it seemed the clones were too ''similar to their template, and within weeks they began to rebel, escaping from their captors and disappearing into the neighboring nations. The Second Advent was immediately dispatched to retrieve the ten rogue clones, with a large battalion designated to find each. To avoid word spreading of a theoretical clone army, however, each battalion was told they were simply hunting the treacherous MC Caliteros Zoomerion, the former ruler of Voretta and son of Benthamic who had betrayed his own people and had to be eliminated. Word did spread eventually, though only of Zoomerion's apparent treachery and not of the rogue clone army. To his son's dismay, the MC's vice commandant immediately seized control over the empire of Voretta, until the matter could be settled. Though the vice commandant was a faithful devotee to Zoomerion, the resoundingly loyalist citizens of the juvenile empire rejected his rule as if it was a bitter tasting tablet, grinding the country's economy and administration to a full stop. The past few weeks took a heavy toll on Zoomerion, who was now seen as a treacherous and irresponsible despot in the eyes of the other leaders within the Union. None the wiser, the agents of the Advent eventually captured all but one of the clones before the deceitful vipers of the Union could and brought them to Valencia for reconditioning. It was the Supreme Leader's belief that the final clone had been found hiding among the refugees of Tegelen earlier that week, but several hours before meeting his son, word reached him that the clone had somehow escaped the clutches of the Advent and was last sighted in the untamed wilds of Tegelen. The real Cali, who had been in hiding for several weeks now, was called to Valencia shortly thereafter. "Not to worry, Cali," Benthamic started. "It seems this final clone is especially resourceful, and as such I cannot entrust my men, not even the Knights, to find it alone. To quell your thirst for adventure, you shall be the one to find this clone and bring him to me, alive preferably, but if there is no other alternative, do not hesitate to eliminate it." "You're asking me to hunt down my own flesh and blood," Cali noted. "Do not confuse these creatures with your family," Benthamic corrected. "They may look like us, but they are animals. Synthetic animals, made for the sole purpose of destroying our enemies. Nothing more. That said, I'm hardly one to let an opportunity go to waste. Consider this your final test: your throne is at stake, worse, your honor is at stake. If you apprehend the clone, I will clear your record personally and you will reclaim your title. But you will face substantial adversity: foreign governments seeking to cross us will also be hunting the creature, not to mention the forces of the Advent and the Knights themselves, whom I must dispatch so as not to look... suspicious. You understand." "I understand completely," Cali began. "You're sending me to clean up your mess and ensure Granchia's wellbeing is not undermined." "You forget," the Supreme Leader warned. "I can take back what I gave you whenever I please - destroy your home as quickly as I built it. Do not disappoint me, lest we be forced to begin again." Benthamic motioned for his son to follow him to the office's balcony, from which they could see the entirety of Valencia in all its glory. "One day, this will all be yours," Benthamic said, gazing out into the emerald horizon. "But first, you must earn it. There is always the risk of failure, but these are the chances we must take to become truly great. Go. Take your fighter to Tegelen and finish the job, no matter the cost. I will be watching." With that, Cali silently left the office and returned to the Spike, preparing to depart. The Supreme Leader returned to the computer console, quickly entering in a complex code to access an encrypted file. The circular symbol appeared once more, accompanied by a robotic voice. ''"PROJECT MAGEHUNTER AT 70% COMPLETION. SHALL WE PROCEED?" Benthamic grinned slowly and accessed the project file to continue his work. III - Summit Soon... Category:NationStates Category:Fan Creations Category:Fan Stories